


Light a Candle

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by True Dwarf Fact #382: Most dwarves celebrate a seasonal holiday that closely resembles Chanukah.  (http://truedwarffacts.tumblr.com/post/104369911648)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light a Candle

The first Lumana that Fili remembered was the one right after Kili was born. All the ones before melted into a pleasant slag of sense-memory: warmth, his father's hand on his head and the taste of a sticky raisin bun on his tongue. 

Then there was Kili, the screaming smelly mass that had come into the world and deprived Fili of his mother's hugs and his father's bed time stories. He waited for Kili to ruin Lumana too, but he baby slept through the initial candle lighting and their mother’s prayers. Fili put on his new jerkin, made by his mother's hands grateful for the baby's silence. The baby even slept while Fili bent his head into his fathers hands for the symbolic warrior braid they would all wear for the next four nights. 

"Four nights, we were besieged," his father recited as he went through the tradition, "four days, were our people surrounded by villains of every description with their only hope of salvation a five day ride away. Four day and there was only enough food and oil for one day. But our people are generous of soul, sharing the crumbs with each other. The food that should have only lasted a day, they made last for four. The gods saw our generosity and our dire situation. With a subtle hand, they doubled our oil and so we had light until the day of our liberation. I say we though these things happened to our ancestors' ancestors. I say we because we are all one people. We stood together and we will fall together. Remember that, my son. You join hands with all those mothers and fathers who have carried this braid through the centuries. We are joined in our survival and rejoice in it." 

Kili chose that moment to wake up screaming, his tiny wails reverberating around the table. 

"Ah," their mother smiled, "come here, little love." 

She lifted up the red faced baby and tipped him toward the candles. The crying stopped dead, the infant transfixed. 

"See how he likes the light!" Their father said. 

"No..." Their mother frowned, "He's looking over the candles." 

A little hand stretched out towards Fili's newly plaited braid with a plaintive cry. With a lunge that drew a scared shout from their mother, Kili practically flew towards Fili. The little fist closed around the fresh braid, still hanging loose, with such tenacity that their mother was forced to hand the baby over to Fili or risk him spilling himself onto the floor.

"Hello," Fili mumbled, shifting the squirming bundle around. "What are you doing, silly thing?" 

"Fi," the baby's eyes closed and his forehead landed with a heavy thunk on Fili's chest. Fili had to eat the rest of the holiday meal with one hand. The baby woke up just in time to steal a bite of Fili's sweet bun and Fili made a show of grumbling about it, though he was secretly pleased. The next three nights, his mother handed him the baby at the candle lighting. Together, the boys watched the flames danced and listened to their parents sing the ancient songs. 

It became something of Lumana tradition. For years, Fili’s small arms wrapped around baby and the baby’s hands wrapped around his braids. It gave them heart when their father was no longer there to wrap their hair with tender care and it was Fili’s clumsy fingers setting the lines of Kili’s locks. That year, Kili was really too big to sit in Fili’s lap with his hand wrapped around Fili’s braid and his head on Fili’s shoulder, but no one said anything to the mourning boys, even when Fili tucked his chin over the top of Kili’s head and sprinkled it with tears.

Eventually, they were small children no longer and the act seemed suddenly too intimate and strange. Kili no longer reached for Fili's hair in the Lumana candle light. But when he thought no one was looking, he'd steal mournful looks at Fili's braids. 

Fili saw. He reached out and linked their hands together. That was nearly as good a tradition between two adolescent boys, who rarely indulged in tender feelings the rest of the year. Their linked hands spread across the years, just as their father had told them they were linked to their ancestors before them. 

They had their last Lumana before they left on their grand adventure. Tall stalwart dwarves they were becoming, hinting at the kind of the adults they might become. It was their mother that wept onto their bent heads now, breaking tradition to set their braids. Her hands were sure even as her voice trembled. 

"Remember that you are linked not only to your ancestors, but to your descendents," she kissed their foreheads, "you must stay safe to give them life." 

She picked up their joined hands and kissed the place their fingers overlapped and didn't let go for a long time. 

"Are we not going to have buns this year then?" Kili asked, joking with her gently until she released them. 

"I would never deprive you." 

They split a single bun between them. 

"We'll eat the other on our journey tomorrow," Fili told her and tucked it into a napkin. 

He would forget that bun. It would harden and stale and be lost in a dark forest many many miles from home. But that would be later. Tonight, their small family huddled around the bright points of survivor's flames.


End file.
